


The Twelve Secrets of Timothy McGee

by Rhiw



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/F, F/M, Homosexuality, Lots and lots of Secrets, M/M, Slow Build, Team Family, Underestimated and awesome!Tim, Whump!Tim, protective!tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiw/pseuds/Rhiw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the second time he'd almost died from being buried alive. Not that he said anything. Because that was a secret and Tim didn't share his secrets. Honestly, most of his others were worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret 7

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted on Fanfiction.net

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could easily be a mistake. And then no one would have to go down into the dark hole.

_"The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn't one." - Margaret Atwood_

* * *

It was a ridiculously cold morning and Tim hated the cold something fierce, but other than that he had no idea that his life was about change. And change radically in a way that it hadn't since he was nineteen.

Because, you see, there was a lot about Tim McGee that his co-workers didn't know. Out of boredom (and some sort of morbid curiosity) Tim once made a list of them. There were quite a few secrets, to his surprise, and being the methodical person he was Tim came up with a system to rate them. He placed the biggest ones at the top of the list and the smaller ones at the bottom and even went so far as to add little sub-bullets when needed. He promptly destroyed the list – he couldn't risk anyone ever finding any of them out really - but the list still lived on in his head.

One of the perks of being a genius.

The morning started off pretty normally; Gibbs was practically growling at his computer as he drank his coffee, Tony and Ziva were throwing things at each other whenever they though the boss wasn't looking, and McGee was paging through a seemingly never ending list of request of aid emails. At about ten they received a call of a dead body. Again, fairly normal. They all filed out to go to the scene, except for Ziva who had a conference call with her superiors, Tony muttering evilly and still smarting a red mark from where Ziva's pen had hit particularly hard. Tony had ridden with Gibbs, which (thankfully as Gibbs and Tony together were a bit much for him sometimes) allowed Tim to drive the van with Ducky and Jimmy out to the scene.

The scene was gruesome, to say the least, being a double homicide. Both were women tied up and still on their knees, large gaping holes in their heads from where they'd been shot, and there was blood and brain matter everywhere. There was a working construction site at the other end and many of the orange and green clad men were just standing around watching them much to Gibbs' irritation. Tim helped categorize the evidence and took pictures, his mind several miles away from the dead women and on what he was doing that evening.

It wasn't that the young agent didn't care or wasn't shocked by violence, it was just that the gore was fairly common by now and if Tim let himself get upset by it or think too hard on it he'd embarrass himself. Considering he'd been doing a fairly good job of not doing that as much as he used to in the last few months, Tim was eager to continue the trend.

So he decidedly _did not_ think about the dead women, or that they were both blondes and most likely had been very pretty. He did not think about the fact that he had to step over rather large puddles of blood, bone pieces, and urine, nor did he allow himself to be caught up in Ducky's rather morbid verbal line of thinking. No, Tim thought very much of the pub he'd be going to and of the friends he would see that night and was it possible to sneak out early if he could only just avoid Gibbs and Abby?

He was doing such a good job of ignoring everything that he missed the fact that Tony had been calling his name until the other agent appeared in his face, hazel eyes flashing. "Jeez, what is wrong with you, Probie? I've been calling your name for like a minute."

Tim blushed, realizing that Gibbs were staring at him in annoyance, letting the camera fall limp against his chest before bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

"Sorry, Tony. What's up?"

"Don't be sorry, pay attention." The other agent snapped, nearly dragging him over to where the Gibbs was standing. "We need you to go down there."

He was pointing at a small, dark hole in the top of an oversized industrial pipe. It was one of the very old ones made out of ceramic and was probably going to be dug up and replaced by those same group of gaping construction workers. Only the very top of the pipe could be seen, the rest buried too far into the ground. The latched cover to it was open and the hole was barely large enough for him to squeeze into, and Tim felt dread begin to pool in his stomach.

"What?" His voice came out raspy and utterly startled.

"There's a cellphone down there and we need it. You should just be able to crouch down and crawl to it." Tony said with a roll of the eyes – as if it was somehow obvious despite the fact that Tim could not see a phone, or _anything_ , in the dark hole.

"How do you know?" It could easily be a mistake. And then no one would have to go down into the dark hole.

"We heard it, McGoo. Lit up the hole when it was called, too."

"W-Why do I have to do it?"

"Aw, McGee, I'm flattered you think I can fit in there with my girlish figure but I'm afraid you're the perfect size." Tony pushed a flashlight into his hands. Tim looked desperately at his boss but Gibbs only shrugged.

"Need that phone, McGee."

"Have fun, Goldilocks."

Tim stood completely still, staring blankly at the hole. Still doesn't mean _still_ , though, especially when dealing with someone who thought as fast as Tim McGee did. But no matter how many different scenarios he ran he couldn't come up with one that didn't make him look incredibly bad in front of his boss and friend. With a sigh, the blonde pushed the flashlight and his camera at Tony and slipped his jacket off and then, after a moment of consideration, his sweater as well.

He crouched down next to hole, shining the flash light down and figuring out the smoothest way to jump into the oversized pipe and see if he couldn't ID which direction the phone was in before he went down. There was, in fact, a horrendously pastel pink cellphone way down to the right and so with a long suffering sigh, Tim slowly slid himself through the opening. It was a tight fit, he had hold his breath to get through, but once Tim dropped down the blonde found he could crouch quite easily.

"Okay, McGee?" He looked up and blinked in surprise. With the morning light behind him, Gibbs looked almost like he had a halo around his silver head.  _What an incredibly odd thought._

"Yeah, Boss." Tim answered. He forced himself to take a deep breath and not think about the last time he was in a hole like this. After all, this was completely different. There was an exit and light coming through it and his own flash light. He trusted Gibbs and Tony with his life and neither one of them would ever leave him here and if he started to freak he could just go back to the hole and they would pull him out, pride be damned.

Nothing like last time. As far from last time as possible.

No reason to freak out. None at all.

He was fine. Perfectly fine.

He half waddled/half crawled through the space until he made it to the cellphone. Tim checked it over, frowning as he glanced at the _45_ _missed messages_ seemingly from the same number. The first new message had arrived in only thirteen hours ago. Who the hell could be calling so much in such a short time? A stalker willing to blow someone's face off? Probably.

Cellphone in hand, the blond (who was decidedly _not_ freaking out) started his way back towards the hole only to freeze when the ceramic around him shook. It was a small vibration, sounding like something had been dropped on it. For a moment Tim didn't move, didn't dare to breathe as he listened for any other sounds. Eventually though the sound and vibration died away to nothing and cursing himself for his cowardice, Tim began to head towards the small patch of light again.

He'd barely made it a few steps when the ceramic around him gave a horrendous groan, the pipe shaking one more, great time, and then the light was gone.

* * *

Tony stared in horror at the shattered ceramic and dirt that filled the area that had been the pipe's entryway. He shared one panicked look with Gibbs and then his boss was moving, sprinting over to the backhoe that had un-wittedly backed into the pipe almost fifty feet away. The vibration from the impact had sent a wave like shudder through the length of the pipe and the already cracked portion that held the entryway had almost immediately collapsed in on itself.

"McGee!" Tony shouted fanatically, afraid to touch the pipe for fear it would collapse further but desperately wanting to listen for sounds of his friend.

The majority of the pipe was still holding together and _Jesus,_ Tony hoped that Tim hadn't been in the section that collapsed. He could see Gibbs gesturing frantically at them to the construction workers and then fifty some odd guys were sprinting towards them with shovels. They were half way there when the screaming began.

Tony knew it was Tim, it had to be Tim, but it wasn't a sound that he ever thought McGee could make. With a strangled sound Tony threw himself at the pile, shoveling out dirt and ceramic with his bare hands, pipe integrity be damned, because it was suddenly horribly clear by the muffled sounds that McGee was buried. The sharp ceramic cut his hands and the dirt mixed and clumped with his blood, stinging like mad, but Tony barely noticed.

"McGee! Hold on, Tim!"

The construction workers were on top of him a moment later, ripping him out of the way as they dug in, Gibbs at the front. Seconds later so was Tony, commandeered shovel already slick with the blood from his cuts. They were both shouting, trying desperately to comfort their friend and stop those god awful screams. Somewhere in the background Tony could hear the alarmed voices of Ducky and Jimmy, but that screaming – that terrible screaming – as dampened as it wa, seemed to deafen everything else. And then suddenly the screaming stopped. Both NCIS agents and construction workers froze mid motion, staring at the now silent dirt pile with wide eyes.

"Don't stop!" Gibbs commanded, attacking the dirt pile with a whole new type of furry. Tony rejoined him seconds later, digging frantically. All he could think was shades of _'nonono'_ and _'notlikekatenotlikekate'_ and a long stream of _'I'm_ such _abastard.'_

It was all taking too long, Tim had been buried for at least five minutes. He had to be unconscious at least or…or…Tony couldn't finish that thought. This was all his fault. Completely and utterly his fault. He'd seen how afraid McGee had been. Why had he made him go down there? If he died Tony would never forgive himself. Eventually they threw away their shovels, too afraid of carving into a body and began to dig with their hands.

Moments later Gibbs let out a cry, his hands disappearing underneath the dirt before yanking a frightfully still Tim up and out. It was clear within seconds that McGee wasn't breathing.

"Don't you _dare,_ Tim!" Gibbs snarled, throwing himself into CPR. Ducky pushed him away seconds later, he and Jimmy moving methodically over the still body. There was the sounds of sirens in the distance and seconds later an ambulance came screeching to a stop in front of them. They defibbed him on the spot, eyes dark and mouths thin lines as Ducky spat medical jargon at them in a quick, harsh tone.

It took three times to bring Tim McGee back to life. On the third, green eyes flashed open, body snapping upwards like a cut rubber band, mouth open in a not so silent scream before he dropped backwards. His eyes roved wildly, mouth wide and gasping before falling backwards and going completely still once more.

Tony cried out in alarm at the same moment Gibbs started forward, only to be held back by an eerily calm Ducky.

"It's alright," Ducky said softly, rising with the paramedics as they transferred Tim to a gurney, "meet us at Bethesda."

And then they were gone, leaving two thoroughly worried agents and fifty-two slack jawed construction workers behind.

* * *

When Tim came to again, the horrible weight and darkness was gone. He took a greedy inhail of air before opening his eyes. He winced against the gloriously bright light before trying to sit up, but hands immediately pushed him down.

"Take it easy, Tim."

He knew that voice. Weakly he turned his head, more than a little surprised to find his boss standing next to his bedside, blue eyes dark with worry. Tim felt brows furl in confusion.

"B'ss?" Was that raggedy thing his voice? A plastic cup was pressed against his lips and Tim eagerly drank nearly half of it in one go. He wrinkled his nose - his mouth still tasted like dirt - when the cup pulled back, Tim tried to articulate his confusion once more. "How…why are you here?"

A look of something – it could have been hurt, or was it guilt? – flashed across Gibbs' face before disappearing behind the mask of stoicism he was so well known for. "One of my best agents almost died in the field, Tim. I wouldn't be anywhere else."

Oh. That's right.

Memories of the pipe filled him then and suddenly Tim felt very stupid. He'd been thinking – Lord only knows why – that he'd been back in Boston again. But that was impossible, because that had happened years ago. Another lifetime ago, really.

"I called your sister. She's on her way."

"Ah. Thanks." The blonde answered awkwardly. Tim let out a sigh at the thought of Sarah, not looking forward to explaining this debacle to the feisty brunette. It was about then that his scattered brain realized that he didn't even know _what_ he would be trying to explain. "What happened, with the pipe, I mean?"

"One of the backhoes hit it." There was a long silence. "It took us too long to get you out, McGee. You…died."

Tim didn't have the heart to tell his so obviously distraught boss (and didn't that make his heart warm nicely?) that dying was not such a foreign concept to him. There was a sound of a snore from next to him and Tim turned, stilling in surprise to find a head of dark hair asleep on his mattress, inches away from his thigh. He blinked; bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes but when he brought it down Tim found Tony DiNozzo still practically sleeping on him. And behind him, curled in a very uncomfortable looking chair was Jimmy Palmer. Ducky, Abby and Ziva were crowded on an equally uncomfortable looking couch.

Come to think of it, this was a huge _private_ hospital room.

…Did his insurance cover this?

Tony let out another grunt-snore and Tim grinned, tentatively laying a hand on top those brunet locks amd was surprosed ro find they felt softer then he would have thought with all the hair gel. The clock above the door read four-thirty and with the ward so silent and dark it wasn't hard to guess it was in the AM. "You guys all came."

Tim couldn't keep the awe out of his voice.

"Of course we did." There was an odd tone in Gibbs voice and Tim turned to look at him but his boss only gave him a small smile. "You're one of us."

His heart felt like it was going to melt right of his chest and the blond ducked his head, aware that his face was unbearably red at the comment. A hand rested over top his own and when he looked up again Tim found himself frozen by the intensity on his boss' face. "Too close, Tim."

He let out a soft sound of agreement. This was the second time he'd almost died from being buried alive. Not that he said anything. Because that was a secret and Tim didn't share his secrets. Honestly, most of his others were worse.

Right now, though, he was just really tired. And Tony's hair felt stupidly good under his hand. So Tim closed his eyes and settled back against his wonderfully warm bed with its heated blankets and fuzzy, unbelievably soft hospital socks and let himself drift off again.

"Night, boss."

The hand holding his squeezed. "Goodnight, McGee."

* * *

_Secret 7: Timothy McGee is deathly afraid of small spaces._


	2. Secret 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't until two beers later and a full retelling of the first time he'd ever caught Sarah drinking (to her utter amusement, not having partaken in much drunken-Timothy time) that Tim realized that Tony was in the bar.

_"Secret thoughts and open countenance will go safely over the whole world." - Scipione Alberti_

* * *

"I am not stalking McGee, Boss."

Because Anthony David DiNozzo would never lower himself to stalking anyone. Because people stalked Tony, not the other way around, and if he was to stalk anyone it would be someone like Rihanna, not _probie_. The look that Gibbs was giving him was less than impressed. The staring continued for a moment longer before Tony dropped the gaze with a sigh, kicking at the loose tarmac in front of him.

"Okay. Maybe I'm stalking him."

Gibbs just nodded knowingly. "Want to tell me why you're stalking McGee?"

"Can we just stop using the _S-word_ already? Jesus." Tony looked around fervently to make sure that McGee was not, in fact, in the parking lot listening to such a conversation.

"Whatever makes you feel better, I suppose."

"Look, it's just…" He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, "He almost died. Right in front me, just like Kate, and it would have been my fault."

"I okayed him to go down there as well, DiNozzo. Technically I'm the one at fault."

"Can the chain-of-command stuff, alright boss?" Tony snapped irately. "Look, I…I saw how scared he was and I still made him go down there. I…" He trailed off, somehow unable to articulate the gaping chasm that had formed in Tony's chest when he'd thought Tim dead.

Unable to explain the sheer relief that had erased it when he'd awoken the next morning to find his probie's hand buried in his hair, McGee's chest rising and falling steadily on its own. Incapable of even beginning to name the emotions he'd felt when he'd seen those green eyes, clear of pain and fear, staring at him as if he'd grown a second head when he'd all but crushed the startled blond do his chest.

He was showing too much on his face, or maybe Gibbs just knew Tony too well, because the Marine just cocked his head ever so slightly to the side and let out a soft, _'huh.'_ "I'm just going to take it that you're stalking-"

"Boss!"

"-following your teammate out of some misconstrued need to redeem yourself and ensure his safety so I'll let this go on for a little bit longer." Tony flashed Gibbs his greatest victory smirk. "Only because I don't think he should have been released so early either. But learn to hide better, DiNozzo, you're starting to freak the kid out."

"Will do! I'll be the picture of discreetness."

"You may want to leave the sports car at home for that, Tony." Gibbs said with a scoff as he made his way into the building.

* * *

From window Tim carefully checked the surrounding streets for any sign of Tony. After about fifteen minutes of scouting he drew the blinds shut, convinced that Gibbs had finally had that talk with his friend about his increasingly bizarre behavior.

The blond had no idea _why_ , but for all intents and purposes Tony DiNozzo had been stalking him for the past week. The very first night he'd been released from the hospital, Tim had noticed Tony's car sitting across his house.

And then the next night.

And the night after that.

And then the one after that.

By the fourth night, Tim was starting to kind of be freaked out. As much as he loved Tony, it was incredibly creepy. Even Sarah thought so. Humming happily to himself, Tim called out to his sister, pulling on a heavy coat and waiting patiently for her to come bounding down the stairs from the guest room.

His sister had decided to stay with him for a little bit, despite the doctors saying he would make a full recovery and was good to go, but Tim wasn't too bothered by it. Sarah's mother henning had _nothing_ on the strange behavior his team had been displaying.

Tim hoped the novelty of his near death experience would wear off soon. "Ready to go?"

"Sure am." Sarah answered with a wide grin, reaching out and wrapping a striped woolen scarf around his neck tightly. "No sign of Tony, I take it?"

"Blissfully absent."

The brunette snorted. "I don't see why it would be such a big deal if he followed you to the show. I love hearing you guys play."

"No one knows I'm in a band and-"

"You don't give away your secrets. I know, Tim." Sarah frowned, her pretty face bunching up. "Still, Timmy…don't you think it would be a good idea to let them in? You've worked with them for so long. Maybe not everything but, you know, some things."

Tim pressed a loving kiss on his sister's forehead as he shouldered his guitar case. She knew quite a few of his secrets, but not all, and she didn't know the nature of the ones he worked with so the blond forgave her. "We're going to be late."

"Don't you ignore me, Timothy McGee." Sarah warned sternly but let herself be pulled from the house and into the cold December air nonetheless.

"I could never ignore you, love."

"Lies." The younger McGee sniped, burring deeper into her jacket. Neither of the laughing siblings noticed the figure detach itself from the alley and follow at a safe distance, hazel eyes flashing with triumph.

* * *

The bar was crowded and the moment Tim stepped in he was given several hearty slaps on the back. He and his buddies played here every Friday  but the busy agent wasn't always capable of joining in with his random work schedule. The band was pretty understanding about it and since the bar's owner son was in it, so was he.

Besides, not to toot his own horn, but they always made more in money when Tim could show up, so they were all pretty nice about it when Tim had to leave early or cancelled. Add to the fact that the pub was open to all couples regardless of race or gender, and McGregor's Keg was the perfect place for him.

He got Sarah settled in with the owner's wife and kids before making his way behind the bar. Tim gave the bar tender a quick hug, gladly downing a black and tan handed to him before accepting another one. He exchanged pleasantries with several other regulars, apologizing for his absence last Friday and pointing out (read: embarrassing) Sarah as much as physically possible.

Eventually the various band members stumbled onto the half stage (nothing more than a couple flattened boxes in a corner to designate where tables shouldn't be placed) and took his seat on the stool, carefully pulling out his electric acoustic guitar and plugged it in.

Next to him, Johnny McGregor was fiddling with the microphones, adjusting all three so that they were at the right heights and then with little ado, they launched into their set. The first song, a requirement for the Irish bar during winter time, was _The Fairy Tale of New York_ by the Pogues and by the first chorus the bar was screaming along. They followed it with several more Pogues songs, as well as some Flogging Molly and Dubliners, scattered with traditional drinking songs and ending it with (as always) a rather butchered version of Bugger Off.

The butchered aspect was mainly due to the fact that most of the band was pretty sloshed by this time and the audience doubly so. Red faced from laughter, Tim slid off his stool, nearly face planting before Johnny caught him and helped him slip his guitar back into its case. He gave the red head a sloppy kiss on the cheek, nearly sending them both crashing to the floor in hysterics before the younger man helped him over to the booth their families were sitting at.

They abandoned poor Liam O'Malley to entertain with his fiddle, but as this was common place and the far, _far_ more sober Liam rather enjoyed the attention all was well.

It wasn't until two beers later and a full retelling of the first time he'd ever caught Sarah drinking (to her utter amusement, not having partaken in much drunken-Timothy time) that Tim realized that Tony was in the bar. For a moment, his drunken mind could hardly place the name with the face but when he did he let out a sharp curse, startling those around him because Timothy McGee didn't curse. Not really.

When Sarah saw who he was looking at she rolled her eyes and dragged him from the booth, pushing him in the other agent's direction with an annoyed, "don't be such an ass, he's your friend! It's not the end of the world!"

Drunk and completely unable to reconnect _why_ the face of Tony DiNozzo held negative consequences, Tim stumbled over to his fellow agent, nearly crashing into the bar when a dancing couple careened into him. Firm hands caught him around the waist, preventing him from injuring himself on the aged bar. The same could not be said for his poor beer, which had spilled all but a drop down his front and onto the floor.

For a long moment the blond simply stared forlornly at the liquid pooled at their feet.

"It's gone, Tim." If he'd been sober enough, he would have noticed the strange timber of Tony's voice, or the odd way that his hands tightened ever so slightly around Tim's waist as he swayed.

"Yes." He agreed sadly.

As if by magic there were two replacement beers on the bar top and green eyes lit up with happiness as he quickly downed half of it, moaning quietly in the back of his throat at the sweet taste of the Strongbow. When was the last time he'd had Strongbow?

(The answer was less than two hours ago, but for Tim it felt like it had been forever since he'd tasted the sweet drink.) He blinked in surprise when the drink was taken from his hands.

"I think you may have had enough, McGee." Tony said evenly, setting the drink back onto the bar.

Tim gave him a slow, confused smile. "But it's Friday!"

* * *

Timothy McGee was fucking gorgeous.

It was a completely utterly gay thought, and one that there was no way in hell that Tony could write off as something else or ever admit to, but _god damn it_ , it was true. Cheeks flushed from the heat of too many bodies and far too many beers, green eyes shining with happiness and contentment in a way that (it hurt Tony to admit, he'd never seen before), lips slightly pink and swollen from singing and the constant press of glass.

And that smile.

Had he ever seen McGee smile like that before?

No, whoever this Tim McGee was, was not the same one who Tony had been working with for the last four years. In front of him Tim _giggled_ , reaching for the beer again and drinking while eyeing him wearily.

Well, as wearily as someone who'd downed over half nearly a twelve pack (Tony had counted) could. The painfully sober agent just watched him in amusement but slapped his hand away when he reached for the second beer. "Bad, Tim. Mine."

"M'sorry, Tony."

Tony felt his lips twitch at the honest look of shame on Tim's face. He took a sip of the beer, wincing at its sweetness. "It's alright, Probie."

"Don't call me that."

Tony paused mid sip, one hand still firmly planted on the unsteady McGee's waist. "Oh?"

"M' not probie no more. _Ziva_ probie now." It was said with such triumph that Tony couldn't help but laugh and damn if the pout he was thrown was absolutely _precious_. Man, who knew a drunk McGee was so awesome? Or that he could sing so well, even while drunk? Unable to keep the thought to himself, he voiced it. "You never told anyone you had such fun on Fridays. Shame on you."

Or had he? No, if Abby or Jimmy had known this neither one of them would have kept it a secret; Abby because she wouldn't want to and Jimmy because he simply couldn't keep one to save his life.

Tim nodded seriously in front of him, his hand holding yet another full glass (he sent the pretty brunette a glare at that but the bar tender simply winked at him.) "That's 'ause itsa secret."

"And why," Tony drawled slowly, absent mindedly reaching up to wipe the small trail of amber that was tracing a path from Tim's mouth to his chin away, "would you want to keep secrets from your dear, old pal Tony?"

"Cause," the younger man said with the tone of someone was explaining something to a two year old, "People nev'r stop with juss _one_ secret."

Hazel eyes flashed, a well-known smirk twisting his lips that would have sent McGee running for the hills if he was sober. "And just how many secrets do you have?"

"Lots." Tony couldn't control the snort of disbelief. Green eyes glared at him in irritation. "Ya didn't know 'bout Friday!"

The accusation was true but the tone and finger an inch from his face made Tony laugh, even as he filed that tidbit away.

"Or the box."

Tony felt his brows furrow. Something in the way Tim had said that, the spark of very real emotion underneath the fog of inebriation kept him from dismissing it as drunken chatter. "What-"

But then Tim stumbled backwards, green eyes wide with panic that had Tony already on his feet in alarm until they both realized he was only being pulled by the red head he'd been singing with earlier. The red head swung Tim around to face him, stealing his beer from him and downing it before spinning a laughing McGee around the dance floor.

Tony slowly sat back down on his stool, eyes narrowed in annoyance at having their conversation interrupted. And if his hands seemed to notice the absence of McGee's warmth more than normal or if they twitched slightly at the sight of a cheerful Tim being pulled flush against the tall male, Tony didn't notice.

But someone else did.

From where she sat, Sarah smiled into her beer before turning back to her conversation with Mrs. McGregor on the benefits of her major.

* * *

_Secret 11: Timothy McGee plays in an Irish band._


	3. Secret 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh yeah! Sorry, boss. Hold on, let me get the others, I want them to- Ziva!" Tim slapped a hand against his chest in shock as the Mossad liaison seemingly materialized by his side. "Don't do that!"
> 
> "My apologizes." Gibbs snorted at the flat apology, watching as dark eyes took in the group in a few, accurate sweeps. "Tony, come quickly! McGee has successfully multiplied."

_"Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides." - Andre Malraux_

* * *

The Marine in the elevator with him was painfully young. The patch on his shoulder said he was a sergeant but there was a youthful air around him that belied the rank. As Gibbs watched him from the corner of his eye, the camouflaged clad youth fiddled with his crutches. There was something very familiar about his features, but Gibbs couldn't tell it was an actual resemblance he was seeing or just one too many years dealing with Marines. After a while they all tended to blended together.

The elevator door binged open and Gibbs felt his eyebrows rise in surprise as the Marine attempted to hobble off and onto his floor. He stuck a hand out, keeping the doors from closing before the kid had managed to get out. The Marine let out a frustrated sound, reaching out to grab the wall as he lost his balance. Rolling his eyes Gibbs pressed his coffee into the startled Marine's hands and pulled the crutches from him.

"You've got them fitted wrong, son." It took him less than a minute to lower them to the appropriate height and then his coffee was back in his hands and Gibbs was treated to a rather impressive goldfish impression.  _Now that expression_ is _familiar._

"Eh, thank you, sir."

"Anything I can help you with, Sergeant-" Gibbs paused, then did a slow double take from the Marine's name patch to his face, "McGee?"

"Actually, I'm waiting for-"

The doorway to the stairwell slammed open and two bodies rocketed out of it. Or rather tried to. One was pulled violently backwards by the back of his uniform.

"Hah!" Another Marine, this one a corporal, cried viciously, flashing a rather irritated blue clad Sailor the finger. "I win."

"Only," The Sailor - a Seaman - growled out, a rather impressive tick causing his left eyebrow to quiver, "because you're a goddamn cheater."

Next to him Sgt. McGee let out a huff of disbelief. "Seriously, guys? What are you, five?"

Gibbs didn't need to check the patches of the two newcomers to know they read 'McGee' as well, it was impossible not to see the family resemblance between the three. As a whole unit, they did resemble Tim, though Gibbs probably wouldn't have seen it if he'd met them one on one.

"Don't be jealous, gimpy." Cpl. McGee said with a cheerful grin.

"I swear to god, I'm gonna-"

"Ryan?" As one the McGees turned to face the startled voice, all three faces lighting up in different forms of the same smirk. "Nathan? _Evan?_

Tim was standing in the small hallway that led to the community kitchen, mouth open and green eyes wide as saucers, shaving a decade or two from his appearance. It had been two weeks since the pipe incident and most of his scrapes and bruises were gone, though one angry scratch remained on his jaw.

"Hey." The sergeant greeted cheerful. "Surprise!"

"What on – oh, hold on." Tim carefully balanced the three coffee's he'd been carrying on top of the water cooler before stepping over to embrace each McGee separately. "How on earth did you all manage to get leave at the same time? And why didn't you tell me! Does Sarah know?"

Gibbs, momentarily forgotten, watched the interaction with interest. It was clear that the other McGees worshiped Tim if their pure delight (which all three were attempting to hide with various amount of success) at his agent's happiness was any evidence.

"Sarah was the one who came up with it." The corporal admitted, holding onto Tim a little bit longer than the others. "It's been ages since we've all been home for your birthday, Tim."

"And it has nothing to do with my brush with death?" McGee asked dryly and the uniformed McGee's faces turned sheepish.

Sgt. McGee let out an awkward laugh. "That too. We were worried."

"I still can't believe they let me go." Seaman McGee said with a sharkish smile. "God knows my CO doesn't like me much."

"Please," Cpl. McGee said with a roll of the eyes, " _No-one_ likes you much."

Sergeant McGee –

Okay. This was getting ridiculous. There should be a law about this many people with the same last name being in one room.

"Care to introduce us, McGee?"

Gibbs winced as four heads turned to look at him as one. _Should have been a little more specific, I suppose._

Tim blushed hotly. "Oh yeah! Sorry, boss. Hold on, let me get the others, I want them to- Ziva!" Tim slapped a hand against his chest in shock as the Mossad liaison seemingly materialized by his side. "Don't do that!"

"My apologizes." Gibbs snorted at the flat apology, watching as dark eyes took in the group in a few, accurate sweeps. "Tony, come quickly! McGee has successfully multiplied."

A loud, " _Whaaaaaaaaaaat?"_ followed by the distinctive sound of a computer chair being slammed against the back of a cubical brought an almost frantic looking Tony to their impromptu greeting circle. He looked around the group in confusion. "…where's the baby, McDaddy?"

"Shut up, Tony." Tim said flatly, throwing the snickering McGees behind him a dark look that silenced them almost instantly. "These are my cousins: Sgt. Ryan McGee, EOD3 Nathan McGee and Cpl. Evan McGee."

"Oy, why am I last?"

"Because you're the youngest." Nathan answered automatically, voice dry.

The look Evan shot him was one of pure loathing. "At least I'm not slow."

"At least _I_ don't cheat." The EOD3 snapped back, arms crossing angrily.

"Jesus, you both suck, I promise!" Ryan snapped, leaning forward on his crutches. "I've been near the two of your for less than a day and already I'm already miss'n Iraq."

"Nice, Rye. Really."

"God, does it hurt to have your head shoved so far up your-"

" _Boys."_ Tim's voice was utterly calm, mouth still captured in an amiable smile, green eyes alight with contentment, but the word cared the heavy weight of a threat. The bickering trio froze. "You wouldn't want to embarrass your cousin at work, now would you?"

The chorus of _'no, sir'_ had Gibbs smirking into his coffee cup.

* * *

It was a wonderful surprise, really, and McGee couldn't keep the smile off his face as he introduced the boys to his team and showed them around where he worked. Eventually Tim sent them ahead to his apartment with his keys and a sharp order not to touch his typewriter, any of the manuscripts, or computers.

It had been over a year since he had seen any of his boys, which was a huge injustice in the blond's mind. If Tim had his way, the boys and Sarah would still be living with him, but he understood that as young adults the last thing they wanted to be doing was living with their overprotective, thirty something older brother/cousin. It would be _way_ too much like living with a parent because, for all intents and purposes, that was what Tim actually was.

"You guys are pretty close," Gibbs remarked casually as they stood before the large observation windows that looked out over the parking lot.

The younger agent nodded, shaking his head in humor as he watched Evan go streaking after Nathan across the parking lot, Ryan hobbling after them with one crutch raised up angrily. "We had to be."

The nineties had sucked as a whole for the McGee family. First his Uncle John and Aunt Ann had died in a car crash, leaving their three incredibly young boys orphans, who his parents had taken them in immediately. Ryan was the same age as Sarah and Nathan and Evan had been born nine months apart so that, essentially, the McGees had found themselves with two sets of twins only a year apart virtually overnight.

Tim had been thirteen at the time and a sophomore in high school. The blond hadn't been very popular in school; both because of his appearance and his tender age, so while most teenagers would have rebelled at the thought of having to watch a set of five and four year olds respectively, Tim thrived in the responsibility. Nothing beat coming home from a crappy school day of ambiguity and hazing like being greeted at the doorway by four sets of shining eyes, all staring up at him as if he was the embodiment of Luke Skywalker himself.

If Tim hadn't been so wrapped up in watching Ryan attempt to beat Evan in the head with his crutches while Nathan pulled up in the rental car, he would have noticed the spark of interest in his boss's eyes. "Oh?"

A year later brought about the death of Tim's father. Rear Admiral Thomas McGee had the nerve to drop dead of a massive coronary mid-sea tour, leaving behind an already seriously undermanned home even more so. But by that time the eldest McGee boy was pretty much in love with the little brats and so when they needed him to step it up and…well…become their father, he had. Tim was determined to give them the family that they deserved, the family they'd all been denied.

Money wise, it was hard. His mom had been Navy retired, but went back to work evenings while Tim stayed home and watched the kids. And on weekends the oldest McGee boy worked two jobs and scrambled to finish his homework when he could. What little social life the geek had was eliminated, but he still managed to graduate with honors at sixteen and win a free ride to John Hopkins, and Tim should have known things were going too well then. The same year he graduated from high school, Kathy McGee passed away from a massive brain tumor that had been growing undetected for years. And so at nineteen Tim McGee had become the proud papa of a pair of twelve and eleven year olds.

"The nineties were not a good decade."

Luckily, all four parents had ample life insurance and Tim had been offered _very_ well paying jobs from the start, so not only was he franted custody, they were capable of living in minor comfort. The kids were old enough to watch themselves so he was capable of attending MIT while they were at school. As all four of their folks had been military at some point, the kids could have gotten most of their college for free.

As it was, Sarah was the only one who followed Tim down that path.

Ryan had enlisted first in the Marines, on his eighteenth birthday. Nathan had followed a year later with the Navy and then a few months later, Evan entered into the Marines as well.Tim hadn't been surprised; the military ran strong in their blood. Tim had even played with the idea of the Navy, but the free ride was way too good to turn down.

"But I think everything turned out for pretty well, despite that." Tim said with a laugh and another shake of the head as he watched the two youngest attempted to shove a flailing Ryan not so gently lengthwise into the back seat. "They may act like overgrown three year olds, but they're good kids, Gibbs."

"I'm sure they are, McGee." Gibbs agreed, a large hand coming to rest on top a slim shoulder. "Why don't you take the day off? We'll call you if we need anything."

Tim was aware that his mouth was hanging open rather inelegantly and took a moment to shut it before grinning weakly. "You sure, boss?"

Normally he would fight more, feel more like an inconvenience, but his _boys_ were home and the eldest McGee has missed them so very terribly.

"Yes," The senior agent gave him a small smile, "Somehow I don't think your apartment – or Jethro – will survive your prolonged absence."

Jeth- _Jethro!_

Oh crap! Tim hadn't even thought about their reaction to his dog. Nathan _hated_ dogs. With his luck the little delinquent would let it loose in the city and then who knew what Abby would do to him!

"Thanks, boss!" The blond shouted over his shoulder, already making short work of the distance to the elevator, cellphone out and fingers flying over the pad.

"Sarah? Sarah! Yeah, it's great, but what about _Jethro?_ "

* * *

Gibbs let out a soft sigh as he leaned back in his computer seat, eyes stinging slightly from staring at the computer screen. The McGee brothers' files had already been up on the main display before Tim had even completely left the building, though Gibbs couldn't say he was surprised.

Both Ziva and Tony were practically chomping at the bit for more information and privacy was a fleeting concept in a place such as NCIS.

The files were pretty empty, which wasn't a bad thing by any means. The eldest, Ryan, had been in Iraq since '05, the youngest following in '06. Nathan McGee had been in Afghanistan on IA with his EOD squad. All had clean records with recommendations, but what had caught Gibbs' attention - and that of his team - was that when Tim had called them _his boys_ he hadn't been kidding.

By his nineteenth birthday Timothy McGee had become the eldest living person in his family, save an absent grandmother who had seemingly never been tracked down, and caretaker of four. He'd apparently been the man of the house long before that, and despite his youth he'd managed to raise two Marines, one of which was already a sergeant despite his age and another who was Force Recon, a Sailor who had some of the highest scores the EOD school had ever seen, and a sister who would be graduating as valvictorian of her class. Having been a parent – for however short - enabled Gibbs to truly appreciate that accomplishment.

McGee didn't talk about his parents much and the retired Marine had always just assumed that either they weren't in the picture (in which case he wasn't going to push the issue) or Tim just wanted to keep his work and personal life separate. His young agent didn't talk much about what he did off the clock, with most of it having been dragged out of him or stumbled upon by accident, so Gibbs had assumed it to be the second option.

Never once had Tim ever hinted at something like this.

After the pipe and Tim's apparent shock at finding his team rallied by his side, Gibbs had decided he needed to find a way to crack McGee's exterior and get to better know the youngest member of his team. He'd been working with Tim for four years, but he knew very little about the private man. Gibbs had been willing to give him his space. God knows that Gibbs appreciated his own privacy and while he'd never been one for socializing out of work, but he'd thought of the team as a family. And Tim's utter bewilderment and surprise at their worry for him when injured showed the Marine that efforts needed to be made to improve the integrity of the team. When Gibbs had shared his thoughts with DiNozzo and David, Tony had come clean about his 'not-stalking' findings.

Gibbs would never have pictured McGee as a singing type.

But he'd never pictured him a teenage father either.

Two weeks ago, Gibbs would have told you he knew his team like the back of his hand. Two weeks ago, he had thought he knew the type of man Tim was. Two weeks ago, the Marine thought he was capable of predicting his agent's every action in any scenario the job threw at them. Two weeks ago, he thought he knew who Timothy McGee was.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

It was something that Gibbs planned on rectifying immediately.

* * *

_Secret 8: Timothy McGee has successfully raised four children to adulthood._


	4. Secret 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony turned to glare angrily at the dark haired woman who identified herself as Special Agent Quinn of the NSA, Tim's handler of all things, like he was a good damn spy or something.

_"There are no secrets better kept then secrets everybody guesses." - George Bernard Shaw_

* * *

Considering the contingency plan was called N7, after the elite ops in the Mass Effect, it was not hard to come to the understanding that it was designed and run by geeks. Tim had been one of the founding memeber, yet still when a black van had stopped him late Friday evening mid-walk with Jethro, and for all intents and purposes kidnapped him, he'd been a little startled.

Until he saw a pajama clad Stacy Weinheimer, neon green bath robe and monkey slippers included, blinking sleepily at him from the seat over. Stacy – affectionately known as Freaks (short for her handle FreaktheGeek) – was one of the best in the computer world and the best in her subfield. He gave her a small smile and accepted the folder and small bag shoved into his hands.

N7 was the baby of the NSA but outside of their handlers, it was being handled by the CIA, something which had caused the already strained relationship between the two agencies grow even bitter. But the unit itself fell under the umbrella of Homeland Security and as such, no one had any real grounds to argue it. So inter-agency cooperation it was. Tim had free lanced with both for a little bit before going to work at NCIS and N7 had come about after a rather embarrassing incident when a pair of North Korean hackers had run circles around a major company and pretty much caused mass chaos for some rather important campaign donators. It only took a half hour to get to the safe house where the operation was being run, but by the time they arrived both he and Stacy had memorized the packet handed to them.

It was sobering news. One of their own, a hacker who gone to MIT with Tim but was several years his senior and went by the name Dizzer, was leading an attack on the National Defense network. He wasn't alone (they suspected the Chinese, though his NSA handlers would neither confirm nor deny it verbally) and so far was leading a very well thoughtout digital assault.

Dizzer was a celebrity in the hacking world. He was utterly brilliant, cutting edge, and so was his attack. He left backdoors open everywhere – allowing any wannabe hacker into the system to cause mischief. So on top of dealing what was probably just several really retarded teenagers and college kids fucking around, they also had what seemed to be three or four hardcore who were with the rogue hacker. And they were intently searching.

For what, they didn't know. But it didn't matter, because Tim wasn't going to let them get it.

They arrived at a decrepit looking warehouse, but a short elevator ride took them into a well maintained and sleek loft room the size of Tim's old apartment without any of the walls. About a dozen people sat hunched at desks and the room was lit and filled with the sound of almost double that number of computers and monitors. As Team Lead, Tim was given a desk slightly away from the group, with three monitors and two large pcs already booted up and logged in. The blond had been mobbed by eight people almost instantly, the rest were too busy to leave their desks.

"Sup, Alan1!"

"What'up, Bossman1?"

Alan1 was a joke – an old handle assigned to him when he first drew up the taskforce by Willie Johnson – after the main programmer of Tron in the Tron movies. It wasn't the same name Tim had hacked under, but he accepted with grace anyway. Tim took control almost instantly, spitting out orders that left his CIA escort blinking at him in confusion before he settled into his workspace. As he'd specified years ago when he agreed to head off N7, the desk was facing away from the others. Tim knew himself well enough to know he'd not perform at his best if was in the middle of the chaos.

It was the same reason that first thing the blonde had done when he had sat down was pull a pair of large, slick over-ear headphones from the bag he'd been provided, leaving one ear partially free. They were attached to a small Ipod nano, fully charged and filled with solely EDM songs. The bag also held a change clothes, as well as six Mars Bars, a handful of Jelly Belly candy canes and a plastic bag of Bazooka Joe. Everyone on the team had one and they were called 'stress bags,' bags that were supposed to help them handle what was mostly likely going to be forty-eight and up hour days of staring at computer screens.

For a split moment he wondered if the agent that had taken Jethro off his hands had gotten the dog home okay and locked up properly. He wondered if Sarah had still been at the house and if she'd been startled by the random man's appearance. Knowing his hot headed brothers, things could easily escalate if Sarah didn't remain firmly in control. Honestly his quirky sister probably would have flirted with him – Tim could admit the red head had been pretty hot. The thought that he should probably call Gibbs came up, but he pushed it away. Hopefully this wouldn't take past Sunday.

He didn't really want to miss a moment of his boys' leave, but…work was work.

Then the rhythmic sounds of _Technologic_ was blaring in his ears and all thoughts but the code in front of him was gone.

* * *

"Where is McGee?"

Tony and Ziva exchanged a quick, nervous look but neither offered their irate boss an answer. After a few seconds (when that little tick to the left of Gibbs' right eye started to go off) Tony let out a strained laugh. "Wish I could tell you, but McScrewed never showed up for work."

The fingers holding the coffee flexed, pushing the cardboard inwards ever so lightly. "Then find out where the hell he is."

"Right, boss."

He tried McGee's cellphone and was unsurprised when it rang through to voice mail. _Again._ A disgruntled sound from Ziva's cubical seemed to imply she too was being ignored. Honestly, Tony was kind of worried. It was unlike McGee to not show up to work without calling. Maybe he was still hung over? The last he'd seen of Tim, he'd been booking it home to hang out with his cousins. Maybe they'd gone out drinking and McGee had overslept, or maybe he'd meant to call off and forgotten to call it in or something equally stupid. Tony didn't have Sarah or any of the boys' number, so the next option was Abby.

He was in mid-dial for the lab's extension when Ziva sat straighter in her seat, eyes narrowing. Confused at what could have caused such a reaction, Tony sat taller and peaked out over the cubical walls.

There was a virtual _parade_ of suits exiting the elevator. They split into two groups, one heading up the stairs to Vance's office while the others head directly towards them. Hanging up the phone he barely managed to give Gibbs a heads up before they had stormed into the bullpen. They were all pretty unspectacular and generic. Same haircut, same ear piece, same blank stare. FBI? Nah, something in the way they held themselves was weird. CIA maybe.

"Special Agent Gibbs?"

"Can I help you?"

"Special Agent Statts, CIA." Tony couldn't stop the smug smirk. _Goddamn, I'm good._ "I need you and your team to come with me, immediately."

The tick under Gibbs' eye grew more pronounced. "Care to tell me why?"

"This morning at 0300 hours the Team Lead of our current operation was injured. He's requested extra muscle for the rest of the mission's duration." Statts' voice was level, without any inflection. Tony decided instantly he didn't like him.

"And I suppose you won't be telling us what you're investigating."

"We need extra security, not investigators."

Blue eyes flashed dangerously and from where he sat, Tony winced, exchanging another long look behind the groups back with Ziva. He had some choice words for these assholes but held his tongue. Gibbs would rip him a new one if he acted out in the middle of an agency dick measuring contest. "My people aren't rent-a-cops, Agent Statts. I'm sure you have enough men to fill your needs."

"You and your team were requested by name."

"Requested? By who?"

"The Team Lead, Timothy McGee."

It was about a handful seconds after that everything went to hell.

* * *

However it was they were expecting to find McGee, this was not it.

Well, Tony hadn't been sure what to expect at all, but certainly not the spitting image of the one (and only time) he'd shown up unannounced at McGee's house and interrupted something called a LAN party. When they told them Tim had a head injury, Tony had half expected to show up and find him with a Band-Aid on his cheek. After all, how much trouble could McGee get in? But even from where they stood on the other side of a long glass wall that kept the hallway separated from what could only be described as a small army of nerds, Tony could see the large white bandage that was wrapped around McGee's head and the padding over his left eye.

Despite the painful looking injury the blonde was still working diligently, hands flying over the keyboard as a single eye, colored white by the reflection of the computer screen, moved frantically side to side. His head was framed almost comically by a pair of large, blue headphones and there was a small pile of fast food wrappers and empty red bulls peeking out from the two different keyboards that were being used simultaneously. The anger that had been growing ever since he'd learned of McGee's injury flared to life once more. Tony turned to glare at the dark haired woman who identified herself as Special Agent Quinn of the NSA, Tim's _handler_ of all things, like he was a good damn spy or something.

"You have him locked in a box, for christsake! How did you manage to let him get hurt?" It came out more pissed then sarcastic but the brunet couldn't help himself. He hadn't expected the small mountain of bandages wrapped around his probie's head.

Next to him, Gibbs turned away from the special in front of them. The sharp worry that had ruled his features were gone, leaving only a cold anger that turned his blue eyes grey. "A good question."

Their boss was still furious at the fact that people had gone over his head and reconqusitioned one of his team. The fact that Ziva had been forced to remain with the car for 'reasons of national security' had only served to further strain the already precarious control his boss had over his temper. From where she stood, Quinn snorted. An older woman around Gibbs age, she was the last person that Tony would have pegged as being computer savvy enough to lead a crypto-strike force. Dark hair streaked with grey was pulled up into a loose pony tail and clad in only a grey cotton sweat pants, and matching zip up hoodie and uggs, Quinn looked more like a suburban mom fresh from the mini-van than a highly trained woman with three masters and a PHD.

"Trust me, it's a question I asked as well." She threw Statts a dark look. "A homeless man on crack broke a bottle over his head when he stepped out to get some 'fresh air.' He was trying to call you, I think, little sneak." Something like affection flashed over face, "Timmy was always one of my wilder boys."

"Tim? Wild?" Tony didn't mean to sound as bewildered as he had, but it sent Quinn into a series of soft laughs.

"Remember the personality types we're dealing with, Agent DiNozzo."

"Still doesn't explain why my man got hurt." Gibbs voice was unforgiving.

The woman just sighed. "Perhaps you'd like to explain, David, since it was one your agency's better moments."

From where he stood Statts visibly bristled. "All due respect, _ma'am_ , Agent McGee was given specific instructions to stay in the upper levels. If he'd done ask we'd ask he would never have been harmed."

"And if your man hadn't been asleep he'd never have made it outside of the safe room, would he?" Quinn asked voice level. "Don't even get me started on the fact that your people allowed a clearly delusional homeless man into a locked down area. He should have been utterly safe, even if he did step out for a moment. You're lucky he's going to recover fully. Timothy McGee's head is probably worth more than everything you own."

Gibbs snorted. "I want to speak with him."

"Not till the ops over. It won't be long, they've already secured the network. They're at a crucial moment and Tim's leading the charge." The NSA agent said with a sigh. "I understand your frustrations-"

Tony almost winced at the poor woman's choice of words as Gibbs rounded on her.

"Oh you do, do you?" Damn, his boss's voice was downright _evil_. "Then you can understand when I say that if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Quinn interrupted, brown eyes flashing angrily. "Tim McGee was ours before he was ever yours, Agent Gibbs. And, God help me, if I get my way he will be again."

Tony started slightly, a cold sensation building in his stomach at the thought of McGee leaving for one of the agencies. He had always known McGee was a genius, but to actually here it acknowledged so bluntly –

"Why he _wastes_ his potential with someone who can't recognize it, I'll never know."

"It's called loyalty," Gibbs snapped, "and don't _ever_ presume to tell me what I think about my agents again."

Tony watched the developing shit storm with wide eyes and the CIA and NSA agents in the hallway were all watching with an equal amount of fascination. It was like watching a train wreck, something, or rather someone, was going to end up decimated before it finished. But before the fight could truly explode in all it's glory, a short girl wearing a brightly colored monster hoodie complrte with a hood with felt teeth, fuzzy sleep pants, and mismatched converses slammed the glass door open and rammed into Statts, sending the agent stumbling backwards in surprise.

"Mighty Leader! Oh, crap! Sorry, dude, you cool?" If this kid was eighteen, Tony would eat his tie. Then she seemed to remember something and perked up again, "We've got their network open – somewhere in the Netherlands - and are gonna try and take back what they got. They're damn good though, so I dunno."

Quinn nodded, throwing a curt order for them to stay in the hall before stepping into the room. The dark haired woman paced the line of computers, stopping to speak every now and then. The only sign that something big was going on was the intense look on the computer nerds' faces. There was almost a scheduled group sigh and almost as one, they leaned back from the workstations wearing matching frowns. From his more isolated desk, McGee stood, running a hand through shirt hair in frustration. Quinn made her way over to him, resting a soothing hand on his back. The two spoke, Tim gesturing somewhat wildly while Quinn's movements remained soothing, comforting. The dark haired woman gestured behind them and Tim looked over, single green eye widening as his face shifted from surprise to relief before finally settling on dread. Quinn gave him a smile and pushed him in their direction before sitting down at his work station.

And suddenly McGee was in the hallway with them, leaning against the frame of the glass door, lips tilted in an awkward half smile. He looked downright boyish, clad is dark jeans stained slightly over the left knee with what seemed to be mustard and a crinkled t-shirt that read _'The Cake is a Lie.'_ It seemed like years had been stripped away and if it wasn't for the pile of bandages around his head Tim could have easily fit in on any college campus.

"Hey, guys."

"McGee." That tone from Gibbs were never good.

Tim winced and gave them a sheepish smile. "I can explain, I promise-"

"Then explain."

" – just not right now. I can't be away from the computer that long, but, I promise. When this is over, I'll explain everything that I can."

"Everything that you can." The Boss' voice was dry.

McGee was pale under the strength of Gibbs' stare and Tony frowned, glancing between the two of them. Gibbs was beyond furious, practically glowing, he was so angry. The blond let out a sigh, drooping like a flower, before gesturing down the small hallway.

"The canteen's down there. It's got coffee and snacks and…well, it may be a while." Tim mumbled. Gibbs brushed past him, all but storming down the small space without

Tim looked so young and so tired and hurt. Maybe that's why Tony stepped forward, a reassuring smile on his face as he clasped his probie's shoulder. "He's just worried."

The blonde look startled. "Huh?"

"It was a hell of a surprise, you know. First you don't show up to work and then these suits come storming in saying you were injured and then wouldn't tell us anything else. After what happened last month, well, Gibbs is just feeling a wee bit protective methinks. Apparently," Tony tightened the grip on McGee's shoulder, hazels eyes flashing slightly, "you're like a toddler. We can't let you out of our sight for a second. Does it hurt?"

Tim blushed, a hand going up to ghost over the padding covering his eye. "…a little." He admitted quietly. "They gave me pills for it, but I didn't want anything to slow me down on the computer."

Tony sighed. "McGee."

"This is important work, Tony." Tim said seriously, single green eye burning with determination. "I know the boss is upset, but I can't talk about it. I signed a page-thirteen back when I did some consultant work with the NSA. But this is important."

"If you can't tell us anything, why did you call?" Tony snapped, more than a little annoyed by the lack of information.

"Because," Tim snapped right back, "I got hurt. And if I could get hurt then so could anyone of them on my team. Shit, Tony," the probie's voice was completely level, but the pitch had been rising with each word, "most of these kids are under twenty-five. I trust Collie – Agent Quinn – but everyone else is CIA and I trust them just about as far as I can throw them." There was an indigent sound from one of the suits standing in the hallway. McGee sent the agent a rather impressive one-eyed glare. "Oh, piss off."

The older agent let out an inelegant snort at the exchange. McGee was a little cranky, apparently. Tony let his grip on the probie's shoulder loosen, sliding his hand up and down over his bicep in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He didn't miss how Tim leaned ever so slightly into the contact, looking absolutely ragged, and the ball of worry in Tony's stomach tightened. "You look exhausted. When was the last time you slept?"

Another weak grin. "Uh, I took four hour on Saturday."

Tony shook his head in disapproval. "McGee–"

"I have to get back, Tony."

"Alright, Tim. Do what you need to do. We'll make none of your geek friends get hurt."

The blond gave him a tired smile, followed by a soft, _"I'm glad you're here"_ before excusing himself to take his place back at his desk.

Tony followed his movements, unaware of the intense look on his face as he did. The agent in the hallway let out a snigger and his eyes snapped over to stare at him. "Can I help you?"

The suit just shook his head, shit eating grin still present. Rolling his eyes, Tony headed down the hallway towards his boss. If they were going to be here for a while, something was going to have to be done about Ziva.

* * *

It was very late or very early, depending on how you looked at it, and Tony's lower back was killing him from sitting in the crappy plastic chairs they'd been provided with. Gibbs was still silently fuming next to him, blue eyes roaming over the crouched figures. Tony gave a loud yawn, arms stretched above his head. He was settled in for the long term. Prepared to wait for however long as McGee needed them, but that didn't mean he was partically happy about it. Outside of handful of Clash of the Titans moments (which was what Tony had taken to calling any time Gibbs and Quinn had to interact) it had been pretty quiet. Just when Tony was debating about taking another walk about the lock down site, just out of _sheer freaken' boredom_ the room in front of them suddenly burst into action.

Fingers flew even faster over keyboards, heads snapping this way and that as the hackers called to each other. Tim had even removed his headphones. The Ice Bitch (what Tony had tilted Quinn) was pacing long strides from end of the room to the other, stopping occasionally to lean over a shoulder and peer into a computer screen. There was a general feeling of something building, something important, and the CIA had all gathered in the hallway watching with barely concealed looks of excitement. Then, rather anti-climatically, whatever it was over.

Quinn let out a wide smile then, patting each hacker on the shoulder as she made her way down the rows. She stopped at Tim, laughing slightly as she listened to whatever the blond was saying. Her face grew serious as she gestured to him and Gibbs, tilting her head ever so slightly in surprise to whatever McGee had said in response.

Less than fifteen minutes later and Tim was standing in the hallway, a small bag over his shoulder, and declared he was ready to go if they wouldn't mind driving him home. To Gibb's irritation, Tim was still not able to tell them much of what had happened, outside of the fact that he'd done extensive work as a free agent for the NSA and the CIA, and it was all listed in his job history if anyone needed to take a look, and that he was apparently the head of some top secret cybercrime unit that was only called together as a last resort.

Gibbs was less than satisfied with the answer. The boss' hands tightened around the steering wheel. "And will you be taking her up on her offer?"

"Huh?" Was McGee's ever so elegant reply. Then his green eye seemed to focus sharply and he shook his head vehemently. "Oh no, Boss. I told her the same thing I tell everyone, I'm pretty settled in at NCIS."

Tony felt his eyebrows rise slightly. "Everyone? You mean you've gotten job offers before?"

Tim ducked his head slightly, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I, uh, have been for years."

"From who?" Gibb's voice was icy.

"You know, the usual folks."

The grip on the steering wheel tightened even further. "Enlighten me."

"You know. The NSA, the CIA, the FBI. The Army, the Airforce, they're actually pretty insufferable about it, just won't stop calling. Uh, the Marines…a few other governments have made some offers – France actually had a really good package, but I'm terrible at the language and it's too far from the kids, and - lets face it. There's no way in hell anyone would let me go work for a foreign government. There were a couple of Universities as well. Let's see, Yale last Christmas. Brown sent me something twice. Hm, Harvard. MIT, of course-"

And the list went on.

Tony found himself glaring hatefully at the back of the truck in front of them, feeling undeniably threatened and slightly stunned. At first, he thought it was jealousy; Lord knows _he_ wasn't pursued like that. Tony knew just how much some of those places could afford to offer the blonde and they probably made McGee's paycheck from NCIS look like a joke. But as the rambling in the backseat switched directions with Tim now repeating rather clumsily that he wouldn't leave NCIS, Tony realized that wasn't it at all.

The thought of not seeing McGee everyday had somehow become completely and utterly unacceptable. The brunette leaned back against the seat, hazel eyes wide in surprise as he realized what it was he was feeling. Tony wasn't jealous, he was scared. Scared that his probie would leave NCIS. Would leave _him._

_Well shit._

Tony let out a heavy exhale, ignoring the sharp look Gibbs sent him.

_What the hell did that mean?_

* * *

_Secret 9: Timothy McGee is kind of a bid deal to those in the know._


	5. Secret 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little something to get me back into this story.

_“But some secrets are too delicious not to share.” - Suzanne Collins._

* * *

Things had gone back to normal (well, what counted for normal around NCIS) after the ‘hacking’ debacle, and the next few weeks were fairly unremarkable. The younger McGees’ leave had run out and they’d gone back to their respective posts, Tim stopped being late/leaving early from work, and things fell into routine like nothing had changed.

Except something had changed.

The revelation Tony had in the car about how close he’d gotten to the Probie had shaken him, made him almost unsure of how to act around McGee. In response to this, he’d fallen back on the age old habit of being an asshole. Oh, Tony knew he was ripping on McGee just shy of too hard, could see the questioning and disapproving looks the rest of the team was sending him, especially from Ducky. But he couldn’t help it, because if there was one thing Anthony DiNozzo was seriously terrible at, it was feelings. And while he had no idea what Tim was making him feel, it was enough to scare the shit out him.

It was cruel and Tony felt like the worst person on earth as the weeks progressed and McGee shrank further and further into himself with each cutting word. The other agent had started avoiding Tony, it had gotten so bad. But he just couldn’t seem to make himself stop. What the hell was wrong with him?

A thick folder was dropped onto his desk, landing so hard that the snapping noise made him jump in his computer chair, and Tony looked up to find Gibbs staring down at him, brows furrowed. “I need you to run that down to Abby, she’s by the gym in the basement.”

“Sure thing, Boss-man, I’ll do it now.”

“I also need you to lay off McGee.”

Tony’s hand froze in mid-motion of picking up the folder. “I’m just giving him a hard time, he knows that.”

“Does he?” Gibbs’ voice was sharp, “because it doesn’t look like he does. Tim’s had a rough time of it the last month and a half and he doesn’t need you adding to it with being verbally abusive at work.”

“Abusive-”

“You humiliate the kid at every chance you get, even the Director has noticed it. Hell Tony, I caught the IT staff talking about it in the canteen. Ducky’s convinced you two need work conflict consuling. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you and I don’t need to know – as long as you keep it out of this office, which you’re not. Figure yourself out, DiNozzo, because if you don’t fix this, I will. And you won’t like how I handle it.” His boss’ eyes were hard. “Are we clear?”

Tony swallowed nervously, “crystal.”

Feeling tiny and like the biggest asshole in the world, the younger agent took the file, head low as he ducked into the elevator. He knew that Gibbs was right; he really needed to figure out what the hell he was doing before he completely broke the Probie, or make Tim hate him, and if that didn’t make his gut twist painfully. The last thing Tony wanted was to lose McGee, it was the only thing he was sure of, but he really didn’t know if that was because they’d finally become close friends or…something else. But what else could it be? Tony had never been attracted to a man in his life and yet he couldn’t deny that some of what he felt bordered on awkward attraction.

It was just – Tony wasn’t gay!

Was he?

The elevator doors opened to the sublevels and the brunet made short work of the lobby, nodding at a few agents he knew who’d finished their workouts before pushing the glass doors open that lead to the gym proper, where he could already see his girl standing.

Abby was sipping on a frappicino watching through the large observational window situated just above the pool, expression rivited and intense. It was large, the window nearly the entire length of the hallway that lead to the general gym area, and overlooked the company pool. Abby seemed glued to it, staring intently below.

 “Hey, lady.” Tony greeted, curious as to what so interesting that the specialist hadn’t even acknowledged the folder he attempted to hand her, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Abby gave him a lopsided grin, “it’s just – well, McGee usually works out before he comes to work, but with the case he hasn’t had time to. And he’s training for a triathlon so he really can’t miss even one practice – like at all – and so I was like, ‘hey, why don’t you use the pool downstairs?’ And he did and, well, I thought it be nice to get some coffee for him since he’s been so down lately. So, yeah, I ordered and then came down to give it to him I just couldn’t help but notice…well…I mean,” she gestured to the pool, “that.”

Curiosity more than a little stoked, Tony glanced over - and froze.  

McGee was standing on the bland tile, face and hair hidden as he dried himself with a towel, clad only in a speedo. Tony swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth, eyes traveling down the surprisingly fit form. The muscles were lean and tight, those of a runner and swimmer, and were highlighted almost obscenely by the shine the harsh fluorescent lights gave his soaked body. The observation window was a level above the pool and McGee was standing only a few feet below them, so close that Tony could see that he shaved. Everywhere. His legs were long, smooth expanses of taunt muscle, leading up to firm thighs to a decently sized bulge captured in that skin-tight suit. Hazel eyes fixated on the sight for only a moment before reluctantly dragging up to an equally smooth stomach and chest (completely free of the extra pudge that Tim had carried when he first started working at NCIS) before stuttering at the sight of cold perked, perfectly formed dusky nipples.

It hit him then, with all the strength of a bulldozer.

He was completely and utterly head over heels in lust with Tim McGee. Tony wanted to pin McGee down, taste every inch of that exposed skin, he wanted to worry those nipples until they were erect out nothing more than lust, until he could feel Tim hard and desperate as he squirmed against him. He wanted to explore his body, learn how to make him come – wanted to come with him, on him (and _jesus-fucking-christ,_ if the idea of Probie sticky and sated, covered in Tony’s come didn’t make lust arrow down to his groin, made his cock twitch and jump and swell) and he had never wanted something so bad in his entire life.  

“Jesus, Tony.” Abby said, aghast and the brunet jerked in surprise, having completely forgotten her presence, and turned to find her staring at him completely in shock. He gave her a weak grin.

“Yeah,” and Tony’s voice sounded helpless and lost even to his own ears, “that sounds about right." 

* * *

_Secret 12: Timothy McGee is a swimmer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ya go, Tony. Clear directions from your body.


	6. Secret 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still short, but needed to move (finally) the plot on.

_"A secret is powerful when it is empty." – Umberto Eco_

The greatest thing about living in DC, in Tim’s humble experience, was that it’s gay scene _rocked._ Tim wasn’t gay, not really, it was more like he was bisexual, but it was still a secret he’d kept from his co-workers with a vengeance. It wasn’t so much that he thought they’d be intentionally cruel about it…but…well, Tony already mocked him for _everything,_ and the fact that more often then not Tim liked to take it up the ass was way more fodder than he was willing to give him, even if he knew there was no malice behind it.

Truth be told though, Tony DiNozzo was the furthest from his mind that he could possibly be. Tim moaned, the sound only just muffled by his sweater. The truly _gorgeous_ man crouched below him let out a low chuckle, his hands tightening on the grip of Tim’s bare cheeks and pulling them further apart. This was just what Tim need, just what he was craving after his brush with death.

He needed this; needed to feel _alive._

Time let out another moan, toes curling in his shoes as a clever tongue curled and probed his hole. The man – _Tómas? Thomas? Something Spanish, to match that wicked accent_ – was unfairly good at this, seeming more than wile away the minutes on his knees, given Tim such a thorough tongue bath that he had a worried, fleeting thought that he was about to come just from it alone. Fat thumbs pushed into his hole, forcing it wider and exposing even more of his innermost channels.

Tim gasped, hazy eyes flaring wide in arousal, pupils dark with lust as maybe-Tómas blew hotly on his hole. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at the smooth tile of the hallway wall. This was, quite possibly, the dirtiest thing Tim had ever done. It was certainly the most brazen. The beat from the club was only slightly muted in the dark hall, and at any moment an employee could slip around to use it and catch them and _Tim had never been so wet in his life._

His cock was dripping heavily, pre-come slipping sluggishly down his length to drip on the floor below. Fingers joined the thumb, one on each side, and pulled him even wider and Tim _mewed,_ jerking at the burning _perfecthotpain_ of being stretched. The clever tongue was suddenly gone from his abused pucker, but he barely had a moment to register the loss of it before there was the hot, hard, slick feel of a lubed and condom covered cock head splitting him open.

The Spaniard was whispering something foreign and dirty in his ear, his tongue flicking out with every curling slayable to lavish his ear with attention. Tim gasped, hands flying back to tangle harshly in long locks, groaning when a tight and tuff tug made the man behind snarl, the hips drilling into him only speeding up as one hand roughly shoved both his hands above his head, the other pinning him roughly by the neck. This was what he wanted, what he _needed._

To just be held down and _fucked._

It was always like this with whoever he had sex; even with women Tim tended to date girls who were…well, the term ‘power bottom’ probably applied. And with men…this, just _this._ Being held up only by a dick and the bruising grip on his neck.

Yeah.

Fuck, yeah.

_This._

Tim let himself go limp, letting himself just be taken, and let the feeling drive all his nervousness and fears away, even if only for now. It felt so hot to know that he could be like this, that he could just let someone take him. He felt perfectly safe – he had a knife on him, and Tim was only just more skilled with it then he was with a gun. Nothing was going to happen to him that he didn’t want, even pinned like he was.

Still, knowing that he could flip the tables at any moment only made the fact that he was willing giving up his power to some random top all that much hotter. The hips screwed into him harder, shoving him up and forward against the wall, and Tim screamed, body arching as his orgasm burn through him. He went totally limp, letting Tómas take all of his weight as that insistent cock thrusted into him again and again before finally, _finally,_ just when Tim was on the verge of becoming just too oversensitive, jerked to a shuddering, shivering stop.

There was a warm kiss pressed against the side of his neck, a husky voice whispering _“thanks for the ride, cariño,”_ and then the muscled body was moving away. Tim took a moment to collect himself, panting against the wall before reaching down and pulling his pants on. He stumbled back out of the hallway, dazed and far too pleased with himself, never noticing the third figure that had stood, watching with angry, possessive eyes, in the dark shadows that framed the adjacent entryway.

He didn’t notice as the shadow detached themselves and followed him across the dance floor, nor as it followed, careful – so careful – onto the subway. Nor when it got off, the figures footsteps silent and noiseless, at the stop just a few blocks away from his home.

No, Tim McGee was blissfully, happily unaware.

_Secret 6: Timothy McGee is gay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, the shadow was not Tony. Nor is he very friendly.


End file.
